Instead

I think I promised I'd get back to regular posting.  And then this last week went and made me a liar.  Darn week.

I actually started writing something on Monday.  Something that I don't know how to write.  Something still unsettling to me.  Something both sacred and sad.  Something about which I'm unsure if all mothers will relate to or something that will just make me look like a failure, which is frankly how I felt--make that, still feel.  Something that I will finish writing once I can wrap my mind around it and find the end.

Sometimes when I can't make sense of something, I have to stop looking at it for a while.  Instead I need to gain control over something, like organizing the playroom, which I did.  Something that requires presence of mind and body.  Something that makes sense out of chaos.  And then I need to do something physical, like take an adult ballet class, which I did.  Something demanding that beats out that pent up emotion.  And then I need to do something comforting, and since I can't crawl up onto my mom's lap anymore, I call her, which I did.  And like always, she drenched me in love until I was dripping with it.  And finally I need advice, so I go to lunch with dear friends, which I did.  And I lay out my burden and pick their brains.

And then I think.

And hopefully
I will write.